


Sing, and Know I am With You

by zinjadu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Long-Distance Friendship, Love, Lullabies, Memories, Party, Rocking out, Separations, Singing, Wakes & Funerals, fathers and sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes, the only way to say something, is to sing it.  Various moments throughout Star Wars when people needed to sing, written as I think of them.  Tags added as I go.</p><p>Not a "musical", but rather an exploration of the importance of singing in life and how we live together as people.</p><p>Open for requests!  Comment with a character, a relationship (pairing, friendship, multi, whatever), and a prompt if you want, and I'll give it a go.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vigil

Obi-Wan gazed down at Anakin’s form, lying prostrate in the healing bed at the Jedi Temple. The trauma of Geonosis had been so much that he had barely fought Master Che when she put him into a healing sleep, but he had fought his own Master’s presence. He had raged and demanded, but Obi-Wan had ignored it all and been there until he had gone under.

 

The thought of yelling at Anakin, berating him for his actions never entered his mind. Yes, Anakin had disobeyed orders, again. Found himself in danger, again. Gone haring off to try to save the day, again.

 

Only this time… this time Count Dooku had been too much for Anakin, even with his considerable strength, because Anakin had finally found out that sheer _power_ was immaterial beside age, experience, and wisdom. But what a terrible price to learn that lesson, the loss of his hand, to never again be quite as fast, quite as sure when he fought.

 

No, he could not yell at Anakin, not when this lesson had already cost him so dearly.

 

So he did the only thing he could think to do: stay.

 

Stay and watch over him as he had done when he was little, and new to this life. Now he was made small by fevered dreams and the loss of a limb, shrunk into himself like Obi-Wan had never seen before.

 

He did not know what kind of comfort he could be, especially when Anakin had made it clear that he did not want his Master nearby.

 

But Obi-Wan could not, would not go. His Padawan needed him most in this moment, in this darkest moment, and for all of his failings, he would not abandon the young man now. He knew he had not been the best Master for a boy who so needed love while he had still been reeling from his own Master’s death. Anakin had wanted hugs and affection, but instead found critique and grudging approval.

 

The fault was in both of them, but he knew he took the lion’s share of the blame. He had been a man grown, Anakin only a boy.

 

There was little point in speaking at the moment, Anakin too far gone in this moment to be coherent, and sometimes words were too little too late. To say everything, to bear his soul and try to seek forgiveness from the angry young man before him, it was a dubious prospect at best.

 

Then he recalled a time, a time before Anakin had become withdrawn from his own Master, when Anakin had still reached out with all the unthinking lightness of a child.

 

_“My mom used to sing, sometimes, to help me sleep,” the boy said softly, sandy hair falling across his tired eyes. Obi-Wan, hair still short and shorn, looked down at the boy with the covers pulled up tight around him, and tried to be reassuring._

_“The Force sings to all of us, Anakin, try to listen to it, and sleep will find you,” he said, and turned off the lights, leaving a scared boy alone in the dark._

Thinking on that moment, and similar moments until Anakin received the unspoken message, Obi-Wan marveled at his own ignorance, his own narrowness of vision. Rather than cutting the boy off from all that was familiar, he could have eased his transition, slowly helping Anakin to rely on the Force. Instead, he had driven a wedge between them.

 

He could sing now, he supposed, but something in his throat closed at the very prospect. Once, he had sung, happily and well. As a boy, he had been praised for his clear voice. But Melida/Daan had seen to the end of that.

 

_“Sing me something, Obi-Wan,” Cerasi said haltingly, “I want to hear something… beautiful.” The last of her life draining was out of the blaster wound in her side, blood bubbling up her throat and on her lips._

_“Cerasi…” he said, feeling something inside him break, but he sang. He sang as she died in his arms, her blood on his clothes, her pale green eyes losing the light in them._

_After that, he sang no more._

Not even when Satine had asked, could he bring himself to sing. He had tried. He had opened his mouth with every intention of softly singing her a love ballad he knew. His Master was elsewhere, trusting him to watch over the Duchess. Alone, he thought he might see if she felt for him what he felt for her.

 

But nothing had come, the words, the music stuck in his chest. He had looked away, embarrassed, and claimed that he couldn’t sing. Satine, ever perceptive, had known that not to be exactly the truth, but she had let it go.

 

As she had let him go later.

 

Now, now Anakin needed him, needed him to be present, to support him, to let him know he was loved and not alone.

 

So he fought through the blocked throat and sang. Off-key at first, he pressed on, dredging up every song his memory could provide. He could recall the songs of his childhood the easiest, but then, as he sang, other songs came back to him. Songs that had set youngling feet to dancing when they had all been in their clans. Songs that had made older Jedi nearly weep, now made all the more poignant for his voice being a clear tenor now.

 

Vokara Che had come by, he had thought, to scold him for making too much noise, but instead she merely watched him, her eyes inscrutable. Then she left. With that tacit permission, he continued to sing, to try to let Anakin know, in his own way, that he need not feel alone or unloved, not ever again.

 

Eventually, Obi-Wan fell asleep, in the chair he had commandeered, and only awoke when he felt Anakin stirring. Finally.

 

“Anakin,” he breathed, reaching out to the younger man without holding back, no longer worried about teaching bad habits. He had done well enough on that score, he reasoned. Time to be the Master the boy had always needed. At the touch, Anakin seemed to come back to himself, looking at his Master with confusion and concern.

 

“You sang to me, while I was sleeping,” Anakin said, brows knitting together, recalling the clear, masculine voice that reached him through his dreams and nightmares. The voice he had clung to as he tried to find his way through the maze of his own mind.

 

“I did,” Obi-Wan affirmed, tucking the covers back up around Anakin with infinite gentleness.

 

“Oh, well, it was nice,” Anakin said, smiling slightly up at his Master. “It… helped.”

 

“I am glad it did,” Obi-Wan said, and held Anakin’s hand until he went back to sleep. This time, a sleep untroubled by dreams, feeling safe and, for the first time in a long time, loved as he had been when he was a child.


	2. Memoriam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for B_Radley, and our shared adoration for Togruta hunting/warrior culture.

Rex was making his rounds of the ship when he found her, the General’s Padawan, staring out the large viewing window. It was late, ship-board time, and she should have been asleep, resting after she had braved Christophsis and managed to get that Huttling back to Tatooine.

 

He was aware that the girl would become _his_ responsibility more often than not, for while the General at least admitted that she had done as asked and performed admirably, Anakin Skywalker was still unsure how to handle her. Rex figured it was like dealing with any other shiny. She needed experience and tempering, but she had the right spirit to get the job done.

 

But this was unexpected.

 

Studying her for a moment, he thought she looked contemplative, almost sad. And, as he narrowed his eyes and strained his hearing… singing. Singing something softly, under her breath, and occasionally making little trilling sounds that, now that he knew what he was listening for, made his ears tingle.

 

She must have caught his reflection in the glass, just then because she turned to face him, blue eyes momentarily wide with embarrassment. But after a moment, she schooled her expression, not haughty like some Jedi might be, but collected like she thought a Jedi should be.

 

“Captain,” she said, voice steady. “I was just taking in the view.”

 

“It is a nice one,” he allowed. Then he stepped onto the viewing platform. “If you don’t mind my asking, though, what were you singing?” he asked. She wrapped her thin arms around herself, and looked back out at the stars.

 

“Oh, that. It’s a Togruti funeral song,” she said softly. “It’s meant to be sung by a man’s brothers, his war-brothers, after he falls in battle. I… I noticed that there weren’t any death notices sent out, after Christophsis. Just an… accounting. I thought, maybe, they would like it if I sang them to rest, even though I’m not their brother.”

 

The war had only been going on for a few months, but Rex and any other veteran of a few engagements could figure out that the Republic didn’t mourn the men lost protecting their planets, their economies, their very lives. Even the Jedi didn’t know quite what to do for them as yet, though some tried harder than others.

 

General Skywalker was such a one.

 

But no one, as far as Rex knew, had ever sung for a clone before.

 

“I think they’d like that very much,” he said truthfully, and she looked up at him then, giving him a sad smile. Then an idea started to form in his mind. “Let me know if I’m out of line, Commander, but it might help the men to hear you sing it, and maybe learn the words. We have our Remembrance, but it’s an individual thing. It might help, to have something that brings us together, after a battle.”

 

“I don’t, I mean, its in Togruti, I’d have to translate it, and,” she started to say, brows knitting in thought.

 

 _Damn it,_ he cursed mentally, _I shouldn’t have asked. It’s too much…_

 

“But I think I can manage without losing the meaning,” she said. “Do you… do you really think it will help?” Rex let himself grin slightly at her earnest question.

 

“Yes, I really do,” he said.

 

* * *

 

There was little more than a squad left of the 501st. More men, shinies the lot of them, would be arriving at the rendezvous point in a few day’s time, right out of Kamino. That meant the gathering of clones in one of the practice rooms was achingly small.

 

They were all waiting for her, and for the first time she felt nervous around the troopers. But then, before she had been a Jedi, a Commander, not someone helping to lead them through their loss. Seeing them, she felt suddenly self-conscious about her bare feet and the tooth and bone bangles she wore. She had thought, that if she was going to do something, she should do it properly, but now she wasn’t so sure.

 

“Commander,” Rex said easily, making his way over to her. “Are you ready?” Looking at them all then, _really looking_ , she saw past the upright, soldierly posture, and square shoulders, past the apparently light manner and friendly jostling. She saw to the shadowed eyes and the gaps between them, where other brothers should have been. She saw their grief, their loss, their pain.

 

She could _feel_ it.

 

“No time like the present, hey, Rexter?” she responded with false lightness, but he understood and only nodded at her before taking his place with his brothers.

 

Standing in front of her men, Ahsoka sang.

 

She had stayed up all night translating it, making sure it all worked and sounded good in Basic. It was an old song, a song from a time when Togruta men had to fight to protect clansteads and hunting grounds so the women could hunt freely to provide for the clan, and the children could run without fear of abduction.

 

It was a song men sang for their fallen brother, and though by all rights she was technically a huntress, she had fought beside these men. That gave her the right, she supposed, if nothing else did.

 

“Brother, brother, your time has passed, Your blood now stains the turu-grass,” she began, her voice soft, almost hesitant to her own hearing, but she danced out the rhythm as was proper, the bones and teeth rattling in time with her movements.

 

“His eyes were bright! His teeth were sharp!” she called out in a stronger voice, and then came the one part she couldn’t translate, because it was meant to be an expression of grief.

 

“Ai! Ai! Eeeeeee-yai!” she trilled, and she saw that her troopers, her war-brothers were watching her with rapt attention, some even had tears in their eyes, and that alone gave her the courage to continue. Her voice rose, became stronger, and she _sang_.

 

_Father, father, do not rage_

_Your son, he was warrior brave._

_His spears were up!_

_His aim was true!_

_Ai! Ai! Eeeeeee-yai!_

_Mother, mother, do not cry,_

_Your son’s soul is in the sky._

_His shield was front!_

_His arms were strong!_

_Ai! Ai! Eeeeeee-yai!_

_Children, children, do not fear,_

_He fought for you, he holds most dear._

_His heart was stout!_

_His fight was fierce!_

_Ai! Ai! Eeeeeee-yai!_

_Brother, brother, your time has passed,_

_We lay you down now in the turu-grass._

_Ai-e! Ai-e! Eeeeeee-yai!_

 

As the last of her trills died away, she saw something no one besides clones had seen before. Rex stepped forward and said, in his strident voice: “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum…”

 

And there followed a list of names longer than Ahsoka had dared to imagine. Each clone called out names as he remembered them, and Rex called out any name that the others had forgotten, and when they were done, some of the shadow had seemed to lift from them.

 

Rex gave her the barest nod, and suddenly she was swamped in brotherly affection, the living clones fussing over her like they had known her all their lives.

 

“You’re one of us now, Commander,” Coric said, and Ahsoka would sing whatever they wanted if it could help them like this.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka sang for the _vod’e_ many times since then, and Rex had once seen her lead three full battalions in song. What was more impressive was that every time she did, she did it with the same care and reverence that she had that first time.

 

All of the _vod’e_ talked to each other, and even though not every man in active duty had met or even seen Commander Tano, they all knew about her. _Cyare_ , they called her. _Beloved_ , because she was the one who sang for clones, she was the one who thought they deserved funerals, she was the one who loved them with all her heart.

 

And every last _vod'e_  would never forget the first time they realized that someone from the Republic could love them. Not for the fight they went to all too willingly, but for themselves.

 

It was enough to make a man weep.

 

On more than one occasion, Rex knew, it had.

 

Not even he was immune.

 

And, he recalled after that first time, finding her alone again on the viewing platform that night, neither was she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not up on Mando’a, though most of you are, but.....
> 
> Cyare = beloved, loved, popular
> 
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum = Rememberance for those passed on; lit. I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.
> 
> Vod(‘e) = brother(s)


	3. Party

Ahsoka wasted no time once they landed on Coruscant, making her way directly to the Jedi Temple. Barriss was there, of course, learning more advanced healing techniques from Master Che, and Ahsoka tried to be patient.

 

She really did.

 

“Padawan Tano,” Master Che said with iron in her voice. “If you cannot contain yourself, I will ask you to leave. You can wait for Padawan Offee anywhere. The training rooms for instance, since you have so much energy to burn.”

 

“Sorry, Master Che,” Ahsoka said, quickly coming back to herself and stilling her feet which had been idly tapping out the beat of some of the newest songs she had. “I can wait quietly, I promise.”

 

Master Che gave the young, fourteen year old Padawan a long look at that declaration, clearly unbelieving. However, when a full ten seconds had passed and Ahsoka had still managed to be still, Master Che seemed to find the promise acceptable, nodded once sharply, and moved off to instruct the other, older Padawans how to focus healing through a kyber crystal.

 

Ahsoka felt she probably _should_ learn more healing, instead of relying on the powerful _sleep_ command Skyguy had taught her. It could make the difference between life and death for the _vod’e_ out there, but right now she had another mission.

 

Eventually, Barriss was done, and released from duty, and saw Ahsoka there, still waiting, but obliviously only barely able to contain her excitement. The older girl smiled, and it made her normally impassive face come alive. Ahsoka loved seeing that, seeing her friend go from the perfect Padawan to herself, complete with genuine delight in her eyes at seeing Ahsoka once again back at the Temple, safe from another engagement with the enemy.

 

“Ahsoka,” Barriss said, her voice rich and soft, and Ahsoka liked how she said her name. “It is good to see you.”

 

“Good to see you too, Barriss,” she said, her own voice higher and younger in many ways, but she never felt out of place around Barriss, like she did with some of the other constrained Padawans. Barriss never judged Ahsoka for her brash, snarky nature, or her easy affectionate ways. They were different, and that was okay.

 

“So, I got a surprise for you,” Ahsoka continued, looping her left arm around Barriss’s right, and drawing her back to the Padawan quarters. She grinned wide, her canines sharp and her eyes bright.

 

“Hm, this is not like your last surprise, is it?” Barriss asked warily. The last time Ahsoka had said the words “surprise” and “for you” it had been a trip to Dex’s Diner and some of the _unhealthiest_ food Barriss had ever seen in her entire life. Barriss still felt horrified at the very memory.

 

“Ha! No, I learned my lesson. Don’t take a healer to Dex’s,” Ahsoka said. “You and Kix, I swear, always on about vegetables and other pointless things. I don’t really need them, but does he listen? No. He says I need a _certain_ amount. ‘Commander Tano, with all due respect, near-obligate carnivore does not mean what you want it to mean,’” Ahsoka said, doing a half decent parody of the 501 st’s medic, with all his mannerisms. Barriss let out a little giggle at that, no longer self conscious about being expressive around Ahsoka.

 

“I shall be thankful for that, at least,” Barriss said, and then they were at one of the training rooms, and behind the door were a good two or three dozen Padawans and older Initiates, ones due to be taken by Masters soon. They all perked up as the two young women entered.

 

“What is this?” Barriss asked, not sure how to react to one of the rooms for saber practice being decorated like some kind of… club. Strings of colored lights dangled from the ceiling, and speakers had been smuggled in from _somewhere_.

 

“This is a party!” Ahsoka declared triumphantly. “I thought we could use a bit of celebration, considering that the war is going alright for us, and we’ve been doing a lot of work. I checked the roster, and it looked like almost everyone would be back at the Temple about now, so…”

 

“You arranged all this?” Barriss asked, following Ahsoka through the crowd, stopping occasionally to greet someone she had not seen for far, far too long. They all should have been able to see each other much more frequently, take part in the traditional games and challenges, but instead they were flung far and wide across a galaxy at war.

 

Ahsoka shrugged.

 

“It seemed like the thing to do. I mean, the _vod’e_ ,” Ahsoka said, using the clone trooper’s own word for themselves, a habit that was becoming common among the Jedi who served closely with the troopers. “They have 79’s, and I don’t know what the Knights and Masters have, but its probably boring.”

 

They reached a console, and Ahsoka took out a data disk, and Barriss quickly identified the band, _Hyperlove_ , but it wasn’t a song she had ever heard before. Ahsoka smirked at her then.

 

“Fives is pretty handy,” was all she said about that, and Barriss declined to ask more. She looked at the training-floor-become-dance-floor and smiled. Padawans and Initiates were dancing, enjoying the music and the movement and losing themselves in it. Perhaps it was like Force meditation in a way, Barriss thought, being in the moment and giving yourself over to the present, finding calm in movement instead of stillness.

 

“It’s lovely,” Barriss said softly, almost too softly to be heard over the pounding base, but Ahsoka heard, her montrals picking up sounds most couldn’t. She grinned again, that proud, fierce grin, and Barriss could understand why men would follow her friend into battle.

 

“Dance with me?” Ahsoka asked, holding out her hand. Without hesitation, Barriss slipped her hand into Ahsoka’s, and with the music transporting them away from war and duty, they danced.


	4. Messages

It started simply enough. Aayla had been dictating a report to Kit, updating him on troop movements in the region, and just as she was sending it off, she hummed a little something, a few bars of a tune heard somewhere in the Outer Rim that had gotten stuck in her head and resurfaced from time to time.

 

She hadn’t even realized she had done it until she had gotten a strange reply from him. The message was simple enough, a brief acknowledgement and update on his movements, helping here and there, filling in gaps in the lines at need. Supplementing battalions that needed another Jedi on hand.

 

It had been hard for him, she knew Vebb’s death, and since then he had been reluctant to take on a battalion of his own. He thought himself unsuited to be a teacher, which she found preposterous, considering how much he did have to teach others.

 

But it did mean they saw more of each other than they might have otherwise.

 

She knew their friendship pushed close to the edges, the very thin edges, of the Code, but it had been a comfort for them both, at times.

 

However, she wondered if she had perhaps overstepped the line, because at the end of his reply was not simply a few hummed bars of a half remembered song, but something he had sung. Something he sang for her alone, she knew.

 

It wasn’t much, the song, just a happy little tune, that was Kit all over. Something bright and cheerful and sweet.

 

She thought about how to respond. She could, of course, do nothing and continue to send proper reports to him. Ones that could pass muster with even the most conservative members of the Council.

 

But something told her that she wouldn’t. That song, it had let her know that he really was doing well in that moment when he sent his message, that he was himself. She could hear it in his voice, with that particular accent of his.

 

So when she sent her next report, she sang something on purpose this time, and though her voice was not particularly pretty, she sang it softly enough that it wouldn’t matter. The song she chose was a simple one, not exactly happy but not exactly sad. Contemplative, rather. With it, she told him more than she could ever say in a report. Though she prefaced it with a flimsy excuse, saying that she had heard a civilian sing it (which was true, even though the civilian in question had sung the song over ten years ago), and that he might find it interesting.

 

There was nothing wrong with continuing scholarship, after all.

 

They were Jedi, and hobbies and intellectual pursuits were rather encouraged.

 

But that was how it had begun.

 

Now not a message passed between them that didn’t have a song or two. At times they were sad. Once, when she had nearly lost half her battalion, when she had held Bly in her arms after his batch-brother, his last batch-brother, had fallen, she poured out all her sorrow in song to Kit.

 

Kit, ever the wise man, sang her a song of healing and hope, and she took comfort in the sound of his voice, though he was lightyears away.

 

Through those songs she also saw another side to Kit more than she might have otherwise, reaffirming that for all his easy-going nature, he was a man who felt deeply and was wiser than most would give him credit for. He sang of a wanderer, once, travelling through foreign lands, wondering if his home would be the same as when he left it, and upon reaching home, he found that _he_ had changed.

 

And so it went, through battles lost and won, though sorrow and joy, they sang to each other across the stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time playing with Aayla and Kit. Any feedback is welcome!


	5. Sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Merfilly, because we all know how dear Dad!Plo is to your heart.

It was only a few months since the war started, and Wolffe was still figuring out his Jedi.

 

Most of the commanding officers in the Grand Army of the Republic were in contact with each other. It helped to coordinate troop movements, rely vital intel, and aided in general cohesion of the army.

 

It also let them troubleshoot Jedi-problems.

 

They had learned a lot about Jedi, the command tracked troopers more than most, but as they had all realized, reality had a way of being so much different from any simulation or data pack.

 

And Wolffe was pretty sure he had, without a doubt, the most unreadable Jedi of the lot.

 

That Skywalker kid’s face was a dead give away, and Kenobi was pretty straightforward. Secura was reserved, but solid. Fisto was a bit happy-go-lucky for Wolffe’s tastes, but good in a fight.

 

Plo Koon, though, was a damned mystery.

 

So he kept to the book.

 

And he tried, he _tried_ to keep his men on book as well.

 

Just his damned luck that they were _high-spirited_ , as General Koon said. It hadn’t sounded like disapproval, but with that mask and those eye protectors, Wolffe didn’t. Kriffing. Know.

 

Then, things like this happened.

 

“Do I hear singing, Commander?” Koon asked mildly. Or maybe it was like General Windu, and he was angry and using that tone to cover it up.

 

“You do, sir. The men are signing some Mando’a drinking songs, I believe, sir, celebrating the victory. I can tell them to stop, if you’d like,” Wolffe offered.

 

“No, Commander, that will not be necessary,” Koon said, and strode forward to the bar. Wolffe stood still for a moment, not sure if he was believing what he was seeing: a Jedi entering a bar, but then his brain kicked into gear and he caught up just as Koon opened the door.

 

“General!” Jax called out, one of his men, drunk by the look of him. Wolffe frowned, and his troopers looked suitably embarrassed for their behavior in front of their general.

 

“Do not stop on my account, son,” Koon said, and that was another weird thing. He called them ‘son’, like they were all his _ad_. But Jedi didn’t do that. Or, they weren’t supposed to.

 

“It is a good song, that one,” Koon went on, signaling the barkeep. Wolffe followed in his general’s wake, unable to stop watching this insanity. “However, I need to teach you all a few Kel Dor drinking songs! Ha!”

 

At that, and the arrival of more beer, there was a round of hearty cheers.

 

As good as his word, General Koon taught them all some Kel Dor drinking songs. And then he translated them. They were _bawdy_. The Mandolorian drinking songs were all about honor and glory, but these were about finding a female and… Wolffe tried not to think about that.

 

Later, much later, as they saw the 104th to their bunks, his general turned to him, and Wolffe stood to attention, in spite of the six or so beers he had drunk.

 

“Commander, I can sense your confusion about me,” Koon said simply. “I understand it is difficult for you to read a face such as mine. But if we are to work together, you must not feel as though you cannot ask me questions.”

 

“Sir… I don’t understand you, sir,” Wolffe said. “You’re a good general, you work hard to keep the men alive, I can’t ask for more than that, sir.”

 

Koon laughed at that, and Wolffe wasn’t sure what was so funny about what he said, though he thought it might have been a dark laugh. He frowned, but Koon put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Oh, son,” Koon said, and something like sorrow, like regret, was in his voice. “You should ask so much more of me, of all of us.”

 

“I don’t understand, sir,” Wolffe said, shaking his head.

 

“Give it time, son,” Koon said. “I’m sure you will.” Then his general straightened. “Now, there’s another song I’d like to teach you.”

 

“Its not another dirty song is it, sir?” Wolffe asked, feeling a little worried.

 

“Ah, no. It is a song my father sang to me, before I came to the Order. I think I would like you to know it,” Koon said, and Wolffe really did not understand his general.

 

But maybe that was alright.


	6. Halcyon

Mace Windu knew that if you asked anyone in the Temple, they would have insisted he had no hobbies, no interests save perfecting his dueling skills and adhering strictly to the Code.

 

He was not unaware of the reputation his discipline and fortitude had earned him within the halls of the Temple.

 

And, if he was perfectly honest, it suited him right down to the ground. It certainly meant no one tried to intrude on his privacy, although it made him a sometime target for youngling pranks, he found those (mostly) tolerable. Those rare instances afforded him the opportunity to each overly precocious younglings a likely much needed lesson in consequences for actions.

 

More, Mace Windu enjoyed knowing that popular consensus was so very, very wrong.

 

It was simply that he had little time for his favorite hobby these days. The war kept them busy, and, if he took the time to consider it, he would have to admit that it was harder and harder to pick it back up, now that he was the last one left.

 

But perhaps, he thought one evening after returning from another battle where they had lost too many men, which was every battle in his experience, he should _make_ the time. Standing abruptly, he strode to the far wall of his chambers and pressed a wall panel to reveal, not an array of sabers like some younglings whispered about, but rather a fine selection of guitars. Each one was a work of art, and he thought about what one he would play, which strings he would strum, what style he would play.

 

After a few moments, touching each instrument lightly, he took down the seven-string, a powerful instrument with a lower range well suited for what he felt like playing. Plugging it in, he turned on the sound-cancellation to prevent his playing from disrupting others.

 

Then he played. Then he remembered.

 

He remembered golden days, bright days, where he had played loud and fast and furious, pouring all his feeling into the music. More, his playing had inspired him to create Vaapad in the first place, showing him his weakness and how it could be channeled for the light.

 

But those days, those days of playing, he remembered Qui-Gon Jinn playing drums like a fiend, the man’s long arms and powerful legs able to produce a driving, living beat. And Tahl’s singing, powerful and deep and glorious, leading them both on. He remembered others who played with them, all gone now, lost to wars and battles and skirmishes.

 

One by one, they parted, going their separate ways, playing together with less and less frequency. Then Tahl had died, and Qui-Gon never played again. Neither had he, until now.

 

He had not wanted to play alone, to strum out lonely notes without a beat or a voice to carry them from simple bars and chords into a song. But now, as he played for the first time in years, he felt the ghosts of old friends, as though his playing could bring them back from the dead, if only for a little while.

 

So Mace Windu played alone in his chambers, and yet, yet he was not alone. Because as long as he played, he was young, he was with his friends, and the galaxy was full of promise once again.

 

He played the whole night, and for the first time in a long time, he felt whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My partner is the one who knows music, I just soaked up some knowledge by proxy. XD
> 
> And yes, I know the timeline is off for Mace and Qui-Gon to be contemporaries. Don't care. They LOOK of an age. Going with it.


	7. Called

Anakin was sometimes aware that he had a skewed perception of his wife.

 

He had first seen her when he was nine, and she had been like a vision in comparison to all the other women he had ever known. His mother had been pretty, he always thought, but her beauty had been in her heart and soul, and in how she had made him feel safe and loved, even at the worst of times.

 

The other women, _those_ women that his mother didn’t want him to know about… they might have been pretty, he supposed, but he could _feel_ how worn out and hollow they were. They were used and used up, and at the time he had only known something was terribly sad about them.

 

But then Padme had been there, and she had _felt_ like light, all fire and hope and passion and determination.

 

Padme had entered his life like a blazing beacon, and, well, left an impression. When he had called her an angel, it hadn’t been just been because she had a pretty face. It was because she _felt_ like he thought an angel should, a person who was light made touchable. He could feel her, calling to him, dragging him away from all that he had known, and he had leapt willingly at the chance.

 

Now he knew what he had been doing, that he had been using the Force to read everyone around him, that he couldn’t help but do it. It was why he knew not to trust certain people, and why he knew some could be extended a line of credit, even if Watto didn’t want to.

 

So. Skewed perceptions.

 

But then, sometimes, he didn’t think his perceptions were skewed at all.

 

He remembered the first time he had been able to stay with her, not just for a night, but a few days. The Council had put him on stand-by, and he told everyone he was going to go wandering the city-planet. They could comm if they needed him. No one thought anything of it, just the Chosen One being restless as always.

 

He hadn’t gone wandering, not exactly, but had gone straight to Padme, like a laser from a blaster. She had protested, slightly, but had given in. More, she had delegated some of her duties, pleading sickness. He vaguely recalled her conversation over the comms with Bail Organa and Mon Mothma, how they both said she had finally gotten it into her stubborn head to rest when sick.

 

It made him smile to think of that. She wouldn’t let sickness stop her or slow her down, but she would take the time for him.

 

The next morning he awoke, the bed still warm from her presence, but empty. Then he heard it, heard her. Singing. It wasn’t a song he knew, probably something from Naboo, from her childhood, but he sat in bed, transfixed by her voice, by the melody and words that took him away from the Jedi Order, from Coruscant, from the war, and put him in a house by a lake surrounding by grassy rolling hills.

 

Padding out from the bedroom on silent feet, he stood in the doorway, watching her. She was dressed in one of her flowing night gowns, making her look ethereal and delicate, two things she certainly wasn’t. He let out a little amused huff, remembering her blaster in hand, glint of steel in her eyes, but that woman wasn’t here now.

 

Here and now, she was his angel, singing a beautiful song, and something about it. He felt the pull of her, drawn to her as he had always been. It was inexorable and ineffable, for he was drawn to her light and her love.

 

The Jedi, he knew, were wrong. Love didn’t lead one astray, didn’t lead one off course. Her song guided him home.


	8. Lullaby

Obi-Wan stood, looking down at the twin babies that had just been born, born and orphaned. He knew now, now that it was too late, that Sidious had siphoned off Padme’s life force, feeding on it. That could be the only explanation for her death and the chilling darkness he had felt while she had gasped her last.

 

 _There is still good in him_ , she had said, and he knew that would haunt him until the day he died.

 

Bail Organa stood poised to take a way the girl, Leia, take her back to Alderaan to live the life of a princess. Yoda had been the one to say that the children should be kept apart, that together their Force signatures and abilities would feed off one another, much like Tiplee and Tiplar had. Only they would be stronger, lit up like beacons in the Force, blaring with light.

 

And vulnerable. So terribly, terribly vulnerable.

 

Part of him resented it, however, resented the idea that they would presume to part these children, these children two of his dearest friends and risked and lost everything for. The logical part of his mind knew that they picked the safest course of action, but his heart. Oh, his heart grieved for the family they could have been. If only he had been more understanding, had listened, or if only Anakin had trusted him, or… there were too many ‘if only’s for Obi-Wan to take.

 

Instead, he closed off that part of his mind and focused on the task before him. The long task of ensuring that Anakin’s son was raised well, and would not bear the darkness of his father. Bail’s task was much the same, and Obi-Wan knew Leia would be loved. Bail had so much love to give, and Breha had longed for a child of her own, he knew. He could not resent his friend for the home he would give Anakin’s and Padme’s daughter.

 

Still.

 

This might be the only time they were ever together again, the only time all around them would know how much pain and anguish had been borne on their behalf. These innocents, whose very existence should not be.

 

Quietly, softly, he sang. It was a simple song, a song he had learned on his many travels. A lullaby. It was soft and sweet and charming, promising pleasant dreams, or failing that, strong arms to soothe the nightmares away.

 

Luke stirred at the sound of his voice, and moments later, so did Leia. They seemed to fix on him as he sang, their eyes wide and bright. As the song came to a close, he reached out with both hands, stroking their cheeks, touching his finger tip to their noses. The both squirmed at the touch, but seemed to find it unobjectionable. Or, at least neither of them cried.

 

Then Leia grabbed his finger in her tiny hand, and his heart almost stopped. Not to be outdone, Luke did the same, and Obi-Wan then saw the wisdom of keeping them apart. They mirrored each other too well, even for twins.

 

Still, with the twins holding tightly to his fingers, he sang another lullaby, and then another, until they both fell asleep to the sound of his voice, and their tiny grips on his fingers faltered and fell away.

 

“I never knew you could sing,” Bail said quietly, leaning in the doorway. Obi-Wan turned and gave his friend a small smile.

 

“I sing rarely these days. I simply thought Padme might like it if.” He stopped, and drew a breath. “I thought she might like that her children heard the same lullabies, at least once.”

 

At Obi-Wan’s admission, at his foolishly sentimental reasons, Bail Organa nearly broke down and wept. Obi-Wan could see that Bail was nearly to his own breaking point of grief, but he could not bring Bail back from the precipice that he himself was teetering on so precariously as well. He watched as Bail got himself back under control, letting out a sighing breath, and standing straighter as a Prince of Alderaan should. Bail stood next to him, and clasped him on the shoulders, looking him in the eye to impress the truth of his words.

 

“I think she would be comforted by that, my friend,” Bail said, his voice thick with sorrow, but still strong. “Very much so.”

 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said softly, turning back to the children, together for only a few moments longer, still feeling like separating them was a betrayal of Padme’s wishes, of Anakin’s vain hope to have a family that could stay together. “I thought as much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was all my muse had for me for this one. Still open for requests, and will add chapters if I get the odd idea. But this collection is complete for now.


End file.
